Symphony No. 7

It is that rare, chronically
uninterrupted dance with
the grief of life that
can detonate the heart:
Sitting and clinging as if
tiny grains of glassy sand,
it settles into bones, unable
to be separate of its own weight.

Hot and Heavy

Hot and heavy air leftover from
July cook-outs and August vacations
feels embarrassed and overweight.

The wispy crispy winds are late,
with noisy, fretting joints wandering
from September onward.

Spice is in vogue, but the sweat
still dances, salted, with calm
seabreezes and sunlit minerals.

The days are still soft and pillowy,
but the witchy smells enter pores,
flattening and drying out leaves.

Manufactured stones and
controlled lawns are calmly blanketed
with everyone’s shivers.